


John Watson's Nightmares Before Christmas

by okapi



Series: Many Times, Many Ways (the Christmas fics) [10]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 221B Ficlet, Bugs & Insects, Cannibalism, Christmas, Dark Crack, Eventual Happy Ending, Homicidal Flatmate AU, Horror, John Whump, M/M, Murder, Nightmares, Set during S1/S2, Snakes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-16 12:19:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 6,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13053867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okapi/pseuds/okapi
Summary: Sherlock's away. John has nightmares.A lotof nightmares. Dark crack.221b ficlets for theSherlock December Challenge.





	1. Peppermint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because icicle-daggers are so boring.

“I was surprised to get your message, John,” said Ella.

“Yeah, well, I haven’t been sleeping well.”

“Is it the time of year?”

“I thought so at first, just a sort of an ordinary insomnia brought about by ordinary holiday stress.”

“And what does Sherlock say?”

“He doesn’t know. He’s in Lyons. Been there for a couple of weeks. Big case. Financial, political, etcetera. Might return by Christmas. Might not.”

“Maybe you miss his company?”

John pressed his lips together, then said, “I’ve tried different things: herbal teas, white noise machine, sleeping mask. Nothing helps. In fact, things seem to be getting worse.”

“How so?”

“Nightmares.”

“Of your service in Afghanistan?”

John snorted. “I wish. Peppermint.”

“Peppermint?”

“My first nightmare was about peppermint.”

* * *

“I woke and went downstairs as usual. No Sherlock. Cuppa, then. But cupboard was empty, save for one tin. Opened it, sniffed. Peppermint. Right, I thought, Sherlock has done something with all the tea. Let’s do toast. But the only bread was white with red stripes. ‘Peppermint loaf.’ Sherlock arrived, red-and-white stick protruding from his mouth. I said, ‘What’s with the peppermint, you tit?’ He drew the stick out of his mouth; the tip was sharp as a blade. And just before he stabbed me with it, he exhaled a minty breath and said, ‘Icicle-daggers are so boring.”


	2. Wish list

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because you can't have too many books.

“How did your dream make you feel, John?”

“How did my dream make _you_ feel, Ella?”

Ella smiled. “Disturbed. Amused.”

“Exactly. The second nightmare was less aromatic.”

* * *

“I was sitting at my desk, trying to think of a Christmas gift for Sherlock. Searching for ideas, I looked over at the bookcase, the skull on the mantelpiece, etcetera, and my eyes lit on an open shipping box half-hidden by a pile of papers beneath his armchair. The box was from Bookshelf.com.”

Ella nodded. “I like that site, too.”

“So just for a lark, I went onto the site and searched the guest ‘Wish List’ section, and, much to my surprise, found Sherlock’s Christmas Wish List.”

“How did you know it was his?”

“Well, I suppose that someone else could calls themselves, ‘Worlds_Only_Consulting_Detective_WSSH,’ but the chilling thing was the reader had pretty narrow taste in literature.”

“What do you mean?” asked Ella

“In addition to _The Encyclopedia of_ _Fruitcakes_ , he only wanted select volumes of the _How to Murder Your Flatmate_ Series: _Introduction to Flatmate Murder_ ; _Advanced Body Disposal_ ; _DIY Alibis_ ; _The Pros and Cons of Untraceable Poisons_ ; _Duct Tape, Quick Lime, and Plastic Drape: a Flatmate-Murderer’s Best Friends._ ”

“I started when I caught Sherlock standing behind me, reading over my shoulder. He shrugged and said, ‘You can’t have too many books!’”


	3. Fruitcake (Warning: cannibalism)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because candied peel doesn't have the right zest. Warning for cannibalism.

“ _The Encyclopedia of_ _Fruitcakes_?” asked Ella.

“Yeah. Odd, right? The third nightmare was, of course, about fruitcake.”

* * *

“I woke and went downstairs as usual, but before I even reached the sitting room, I heard Sherlock milling about. When I turned and saw him in the kitchen, I could hardly believe my eyes. The world’s only consulting detective in an apron! The counters and table were covered with bowls and pans and cutting boards.”

“’What’s all this?’ I asked.”

“’Fruitcake, John.’”

“’You bake?’”

“’I am a scientist,’ he replied with an indignant huff. ‘Baking’s chemistry, a bit of physics. This is a Holmes tradition.’”

“I hummed and studied the ingredients scattered about the cooking space with more care. Sherlock watched me, rattling off the list, ‘Almonds, raisins, sultanas, currants, glacé cherries, dried apricots. Nutmeg, allspice, brandy, of course, black treacle, eggs, flour, sugar. Zest of lemon,’ he held up the yellow fruit and a metal grater, ‘zest of orange and special something that sets this dessert apart from all its imitators.’”

“’Oh, yeah?’ I replied with a raised eyebrow. ‘Wait, isn’t fruitcake supposed to have candied peel, too?’”

“’This will have something much finer, John.’”

“’What’s that?’”

“’Candied skin.’”

“’Skin of what?!’ I asked, recoiling.”

“He stepped forward as I retreated, exchanged grater for knife, crying, ‘Why, John, of your terror-struck brow!”


	4. Winter Sports

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because one must learn from history if one wants to repeat it.

Ella frowned. “John, that’s…”

“Amusing? Disturbing?”

“No. Yes. And odd.”

John hummed. “The fourth nightmare was about ice-skating in Regent’s Park. It has a historical footnote, if you’re keen on that sort of thing.”

“I thought I was,” said Ella weakly. “Go on.”

* * *

“It was a bright, crisp winter day, and Sherlock had not had a case in a week. I suggested a bit of skating, certain that Sherlock would scoff and make some caustic remark, but, hey, at least he’d be shooting down an idea and not the walls, right? Well, the joke was on me because was that he was all for it. An hour later, we were on thin ice. Literally. We were gliding along side-by-side, and Sherlock turned to me and said, ‘John, on this day, one hundred and fifty years ago, two hundred skaters plunged into the frigid waters of this lake when the ice beneath their feet cracked. Forty died. It took a week to recover all the bodies.’”

“’That’s awful,’ I said. ‘Glad things are safer these days.’”

“’Yes, it was a bit difficult to arrange proper homage. But one must learn from history if one wants to repeat it.’”

_CRACK!_

And as I sank into my icy grave, I heard Sherlock mutter,

“’Don’t worry, John. Shan’t take a week to find your body.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Here's](https://londonist.com/2012/11/londons-forgotten-disasters-ice-skating-tragedy-in-regents-park%22) an article about the incident in Regent's Park.


	5. Mistletoe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because it does not do to presume before you have all the facts.

“Oh, John,” breathed Ella.

“Yeah, the next one had to do with mistletoe and miscommunication.”

* * *

“I returned to the flat one afternoon and discovered a lovely baking smell wafting up the stairs and a green ball of vegetation hanging by a ribbon from the threshold to the sitting room. At first glance, I thought, well, Sherlock might be inviting a romantic gesture on my part, but, of course, I proceeded with caution.”

“’Mistletoe, Sherlock?’ I asked. He was stretched out on the sofa, reading a journal.”

“’Very good, John,’ he replied without looking up. ‘ _Viscum album_. It’s a parasite.’”

“’I thought you didn’t go in for holiday decorating.’”

“’I don’t, but Mrs. Hudson does. It arrived with the Mistletoe Gingerbread Men.”

“As he said the words, I spied on the kitchen table a plate heaped with dark brown biscuits. I was famished, so I dug in at once. ‘Wonder why she calls them Mistletoe Gingerbread Men?’ I asked, chewing.”

“’The buttons. Oh, wait. That was my touch.’”

“I stared at the half-eaten biscuit. The buttons down the front of the fellow did, indeed, resemble white berries. I looked at the hanging ball. Not a berry on it.’”

“’They’re poison,’ I said, running to the sink.”

“’Only to dogs or cats,’ said Sherlock ruefully. ‘That’s why I added arsenic to the batter.’”


	6. Cosy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because nothing says 'cosy murder' like homicidal knitwear.

“Now we’re getting somewhere, John,” said Ella. “Your relationship with Sherlock—”

John raised a hand “Hold on, Doctor Freud, until you hear the one about the jumper.”

* * *

“To provide some context, Sherlock is always making unflattering comments about my jumpers, but I like them. They’re comfortable. They’re warm. So, the nightmare. Christmas Eve. Sherlock had set a gift box before me and was now looking anxious as I lifted the lid.”

“’Oh, Sherlock,’ I exclaimed as I held up the cream-coloured jumper. ‘It’s perfect.’”

“’Whew!’ said Sherlock. ‘My first effort. And I had to search all of London for that yarn.’”

“’What you knitted it?! Sherlock, you _are_ a genius. It’s looks so,’ I sighed, ‘cosy! I’m going to try it on right now.’”

“’I was hoping you’d say that.’”

“I slipped it on over my shirt.”

“’It fits like a glove, Sherlock. Well done. So soft. And warm! I’ll never be cold again.”

“Sherlock beamed. I looked down to admire his handiwork when I felt a tightness around my chest. And arms. And neck. I blinked. ‘Sherlock, it must be my imagination. It feels like the jumper’s shrinking.’”

“’Not shrinking, John, _constricting_.’”

“’What?’ I gasped. The jumper grew tighter. I tried to yank it off, to no avail.’”

“You’re right, John. You won’t ever be cold again.’”

“’I. CAN’T. BREATHE.’”


	7. Christmas cards.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because commercial sentiment is never as good as the homemade variety.

“I suppose my subconscious grew weary of gifts and baking because the next nightmare was about Christmas cards,” said John.

* * *

“The scene was dark. There was only Sherlock’s voice, unusually soft, apologetic and formal.”

“’John, finding a good Christmas card is bloody difficult.’”

“’They’re all ghastly,’ I agreed. ‘And none of them say what I want to say.’”

“’Would you mind if I, well, made one?’”

“’Not at all. That’s a wonderful idea.’”

“Then everything came into focus. There was an envelope in my hands. I gave it to Sherlock, and he gave a similar envelope to me. I didn’t see his face. I was holding a letter opener in one hand. I slit open the envelope and offered Sherlock the letter opener. There was second sound of paper being cut as I slipped the card out of the envelope.”

“’It was foolish,’ said Sherlock, ‘to think that a shop would sell a card that would have the engineering required…”

“I read the front of the card:  " _Happy Christmas to All…_ ’"

"Then I opened it and felt the pin-prick at my neck. I froze. ‘… _and to John, a Good Night!_ ’"

"I fell to the floor and watched, helpless, as the letter opener neared my throat.”

“’…to launch a spring-loaded dart tipped with curare. Don’t worry, John. This won’t hurt a bit.”


	8. Warming up. (Warning: cannibalism)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because 'bath' and 'broth' sound awfully alike. Warning for cannibalism.

“Then, I was cold. It had settled in my bones and wouldn’t let go. I could not warm up no matter how I tried. Extra socks. Tea. A roaring fire. Nothing worked. Sherlock returned and observed my shivering.”

“’Bath?’ he suggested.”

“’Why not?’ I replied. And it worked. As I sank into the water, I finally felt the cold releasing its grip on me. I was so comfortable that I promptly fell asleep.”

“The bathwater was still warm when I awoke. In fact, it seemed to be even warmer then when I first drew it. With my eyes still closed, I inhaled a glorious aroma of sage and onions. Maybe Mrs. Hudson, I thought, was cooking a hearty stew but the odor was awfully strong. Sherlock? It smelled wonderful whatever it was. I bent my knee, and something brushed my foot. Then something else brushed against my chest. I opened my eyes.”

“It was a potato. Two, three potatoes bobbing in the water. There were carrots and celery, too, in the bath. Alarmed, I began to sweat and was about to leap from the tub when Sherlock appeared in the doorway, sharpening a knife.”

“’Why are there vegetables in my bath, Sherlock?!’ I cried.”

“’What? Oh, my error, John. But in my defence, they do sound awfully alike: bath and broth.’”


	9. Wrapping up.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because if you need more than 3 pieces of tape, you're doing it wrong.

“In the next nightmare, which would be number—”

“Nine,” said Ella, looking at the blank page of her note-book with despair.

* * *

“Right. In the ninth nightmare, I woke and went downstairs as usual. Sherlock was busy at the table with a pile of boxes arranged beside him. Wrapping paper. Bows. Ribbon. Scissors.”

“’Mrs. Hudson’s rheumatism is flaring up. I offered to help,’ he explained, with a flourish. ‘Professional gift wrappers say that if you require more than three pieces of tape, you’re doing it wrong.”

“’Oh, yeah? Hmm. Nice of you to lend a hand,’ I said. ‘Need help yourself?’”

“’That’d be lovely. Keep going here. I’ll bring up the crate. It’s last.’”

“I set to work. It was nice, a bit meditative, you know? Measuring. Cutting. Folding. Tying ribbons. Affixing bows and tags. Then I heard Sherlock thumping up the stairs.”

“’Christ, what’s going in that? Is Mrs. Hudson getting someone a refrigerator? Or a zoo animal?’”

“’It would seem so,’ said Sherlock as he pried the lid off with a jimmy. ‘There. Hop in, John.’”

“’What? No!’”

_THONK!_

“The jimmy connected with my skull. Then I was being lifted into the crate. ‘Oh, wait,’ said Sherlock. Then he pressed a bow to my head and patted it. ‘Don’t worry, John. You’ll be sent _Special Delivery_.' Then all went black.”


	10. Eggnog (Warning for snakes)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because all kinds of creatures lay eggs. Warning for snakes.

“Then, Sherlock and I were queuing in a coffee shop. A bloke with a tray of little cups approached us. ‘Like to try our new Eggnog Latte?’”

“’No,’ said Sherlock coolly. ‘I like my salmonella cold.'”

“’Why not?’ I interrupted. ‘Thanks.’ And much to my surprise, it was really good, so good I bought a full one when we reached the counter. Sherlock looked at me like I was mad, and I couldn’t blame him. As a rule, I’d never been particularly fond of eggnog. ‘Maybe it was the nutmeg,’ I said, shrugging.”

“The scene shifted to a later time. I returned to the flat to find Sherlock in the kitchen. He held out a mug. ’Eggnog Latte. I thought your reaction a bit unusual, so I hacked the coffee shop’s computer system for the challenging, but not-so-secret recipe.’”

“I took a sip. ‘That tastes just like it. Nice job. So, what’s in it? I suppose cream, sugar, milk, nutmeg…’”

“’Obviously, John, but the challenge is the eggs.’”

“I felt something tickle my leg. I looked down and screamed. ‘SNAKE!’”

“’Don’t make any sudden moves, John.’”

“There was another one. And another. And another.”

“’SHERLOCK!’ I screamed as fangs pierced my calf.”

“’You know, John I cannot fathom why they prefer to nest in your armchair. It is, quite frankly, bewildering.”


	11. Christmas carols

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because Sisyphus and Tantalus would've liked John.

“Then, there were the carolers. They came by one evening. I went down to listen. Sherlock didn’t even seem to notice. He was absorbed in an experiment.”

“They were about a dozen, clumped tightly together on the pavement, wearing Victorian period costume. They sang all the usual favourites with gusto. I gave them a donation for their charity and was about to close the door, when Sherlock appeared behind me.”

“This good man wishes to join you,’ he said and gave me a sharp shove forward.”

“’What?!’ I exclaimed, but the throng had already seized me. There was a flurry of hands and a redistribution of wardrobe and now I was in period dress, ,too. I yelled and tried to flee, but a pair of handcuffs suddenly snapped on my wrists. An eye to the centre of the group told me that each of the carolers were shackled to a single chain.”

“’On!’ shouted the leader.”

“’Make merry, John!’ called Sherlock with a wave.”

“I sang. And sang. I sang until my mouth was parched and my voice was gone. I sang until I could not remember words or tune and kept on singing until the words were the only thing that I could remember.”

“In short, I was compelled to sing until I was, quite literally, completely out of breath.”


	12. Winter Wonderland.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because the weather inside is frightful.

“The next was confusing at first. I thought I was drowning. There was water, everywhere. I panicked, then realized I could breathe. Was I a fish? I reached a hand out, my fingertips touched something hard, but transparent. I couldn’t move, however; my feet were fixed to the ground. I looked behind me and started. There was an odd, brown figure. Red hat, blue coat, pointed nose. He didn’t blink. He didn’t move, either, but he didn’t look menacing, exactly. To be honest, he looked rather sweet.”

“But then the ground began to shake. I turned back. Two enormous grey eyes filled the horizon. They blinked. Then my world was turned upside-down and I heard Sherlock chanting, ‘It’s snowing, it’s snowing!’ And then—”

“Stop, John,” said Ella.

“Time’s up?”

“No. Well, yes. It’s a good time for a break.”

John read her scribbling upside-down. His eyebrows shot up. “That’s a very heavy sedative, Ella.”

“I know,” she replied quickly.

John rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know if I feel comfortable taking something—”

“It isn’t for you, John. It’s for me. We can continue tomorrow. Ten o’clock? Great.” She gave a nod, then stood. “I’ll admit it’s a new one. I’ve never had a client who dreamt of being trapped inside a Marks & Spencer snow globe with Paddington Bear!”

 


	13. Pine-scented

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because everyone gets a bit cross when they're peckish.

“Okay, John. Let’s see. Where were we? Oh, yes. Did you have a nightmare last night?”

“Yes, several, even though I tried something new: burning an aromatic candle purported to aide restful sleep. It smelled all right, I suppose, but it didn’t keep the bad dreams at bay.”

“Well, why don’t we start from the end and work our way back to,” she looked down at her notes, “the Paddington bear snow globe.”

John nodded.

* * *

“It was dark. I couldn’t move, but I had the sense I was outdoors. I heard a tapping. It stopped. Then it started again. Tap, tap, tap. This pattern continued, and with time, the tapping grew louder. I took a deep breath and noticed a sharp, woodsy fragrance.”

* * *

“Could that have been the candle?” interrupted Ella. “Was it pine-scented?”

“No. Lavender.”

Ella nodded. “Go on.”

* * *

“Finally, the tapping stopped, something gave way, and there was a circle of light. It took a few moments for my eyes to adjust, but when they did I saw Sherlock’s head. His features were usually sharp, especially his nose, and he wore a red hat.”

“’Got any grubs?’ he chirruped.”

“’No!’ I cried. ‘And stop pecking holes in my bark, you menace!’”

“’No, I’d prefer not to,’ he said, rather matter-of-factly, then stabbed me in the face with his beak.”


	14. Elf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because John should be good for goodness' sake.
> 
> Note: This references 'Elf on the Shelf,' which is a children's book plus figurine that is known in the UK among some of the younger generation, but is much more widely known in the US. The elf is suppose to be reporting children's behaviour to Santa Claus. There's is also a Legolas ( _The Lord of the Rings_ ) reference here.

“You were a tree,” said Ella. “And Sherlock was a woodpecker.”

“Yes. The one before that was more straightforward. I was me, at home, alone. Or so I thought.”

“It was normal day. Eat breakfast. Do laundry. Update the blog. But, and this may not seem nightmarish to you, I had the sense I was being watched, that eyes were on me, somewhere. And what’s more, I saw it. Or at least I thought I did. It was a something in the corner of my eye, a small dark something, but whenever I turned my head or looked behind me, nothing was there.”

“I could sense it in the corner of the room, just beyond my left shoulder. Its shadow grew bigger. I turned my head quickly, and it vanished. I tried to ignore it. I tried to tell myself it wasn’t real, that it was my imagination. Or that maybe something wrong with my eyes. But it was there, watching me, all day.”

“Finally, I caught it. I went downstairs and set my phone to take a delayed photograph, then pretended to drop it.”

“And there, sitting on the shelf, was a miniature Sherlock with pointy ears, a Santa Claus hat, red tights, and a crossbow.”

“’You’ve been naughty, John,’ he said as I felt an arrow pierce my back.”


	15. The Case of the Frozen Corpse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because suckers are born, not made.

“Sherlock was his usual self in the nightmare before that, and it began with him asking a common enough question.”

* * *

“’What are you going to call this one, John, ‘The Case of the Frozen Corpses’?”

“I shook my head. ‘The Case of the Iced Wallys.’”

“Sherlock groaned.”

“’Everything old becomes new,’ I said. ‘The resurrection trade, that is, stealing corpses for profit, that so scandalised the Georgian Era has got a new life.’”

“’Or perhaps reports of its death were greatly exaggerated. But, yes, we did just catch a modern Burke and Hare. Have the police finished?’”

“’Yes, everybody has left. What I don’t understand, Sherlock, is how people can be so credulous these days. I mean, sixteen people just voluntarily walked into that deep freezer.’”

“’Over a period of months, yes. You think that they should’ve suspected that our two friends had a secret laboratory beneath the freezer and they would be be made into human gelato and sold to some unscrupulous characters?’”

“I shrugged. ‘Well, I suppose not. Let’s go home, Sherlock.’”

“We reached the front of the building. Then Sherlock stopped abruptly.”

“’John, I left my scarf back at the crime scene. Would you fetch it for me?”

“’Yeah.’”

“And just before the deep freezer door shut behind me, I heard Sherlock mumble, ‘Every minute, says Mister Barnum.’”


	16. Yule log (Warning for insects)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because a watched pot can still surprise you. Warning for insects.
> 
> Crosby the Banker is a reference to ACD canon, specifically an untold story that Watson makes reference to in "The Golden Pince-nez."

“Before that, the nightmare was also related to a case. I was at home when Sherlock arrived carrying the largest piece of wood I believe that he could carry unaided by a crane or some other device.”

“’Experiment?’ I asked.”

“He nodded. ’Cold case.’”

“’Crosby the Banker?’”

“’Yes, the internet is a wonderful, John. Remember when I said I thought his death related to a Yule log?’”

“’Yes.’”

“’I was fortunate enough to be able to find wood cut from the very same log.’”

“’But Crosby died in—!”

“1894. Nevertheless, John. We must keep this log burning day and night. Don’t’ worry. I’ll take most of the shifts.”

“Time in dreams is elastic. A moment may stretch for a short eternity; a long duration may feel like an instant. This was the latter. No sooner had we got the flames going than the log began to shrink and the cinders and ash began to pile up.”

“We were in the sitting when the cracking began.”

“’Ah-ha!’ exclaimed Sherlock.”

“I stood before the fire, watching. The log split and streams of round, black insects came scurrying out of the crack. Before I could flee, I was overrun.”

“BLOODY BLACK BEETLES!” I screamed.

“And as they devoured me, I heard ‘Thank you, John. Those _were_ precisely the last words of Crosby the Banker.’”


	17. Scarf and coat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because prêt-à-porter is for the faint of heart.

“Sherlock is a posh git, and like every posh git, he has posh git clothes which he treats like tat. What he doesn’t send out to be cleaned usually ends up in my laundry basket.”

“In this nightmare, the clothes were everywhere, as if he’d not bothered for weeks. I got fed up and collected it all—Saville Row to socks—with my own proletariat wear. I carried everything downstairs to the laundry room and sorted it. A pile of suits. A pile of shirts. A pile of shorts and socks and pyjamas and dressing gowns.”

“I turned towards the washer and—”

WHAM!

“Something was around my neck. Tight. Tighter. I reached back, flailing at sleeve and air. Something grabbed my arm. Left. Right. Something was tangled about my legs. I twisted. I fell. I thrashed, but found myself tethered. Silk. Cotton. Wool. Nothing human, just fabric.”

“I opened my eyes and saw Sherlock’s aubergine shirt hovering over me. With its sleeve, it opened the bottle of laundry soap that Sherlock’s suit jacket held aloft. As soap poured on me, I wrenched free and ran towards the stairs. I got as far as the sitting room.”

“The Belstaff and the blue scarf eyed me pityingly as a sash wound ‘round my neck and between my teeth slipped a large, mother-of-pearl button.”


	18. Christmas crackers.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because there's always Christmas dinner at the Borgias.

“Of course, that one had nothing to do with the time of year, but the one before that was definitely seasonal. It was about Christmas crackers.”

* * *

“I woke and went downstairs as usual. Sherlock was at the kitchen table. Brightly coloured paper. Ribbon. Scissors.”

“’More gifts?’ I asked warily, remembering the last time I’d seen him like this, but then I noticed a lot of paper tubes.’”

“’Mrs. Hudson,’ he grumbled. ‘Rheumatism again. She wants Christmas crackers with a personal touch.’”

“I spied a pile of slips of paper. One read ‘Your wife will leave you for her yoga instructor.’ Oh, Sherlock, that’s not on.”

“’It’s personal.’”

“’Too personal.’ I went to the bookcase. ‘Don’t we have a book of happy quotes?’”

“’Here’s the test model. John, pull one end.’”

“’Oh, okay.””

_BOOM!_

“’When I woke, Sherlock was standing over me. I couldn’t hear him. I read his lips.”

“’Too much silver fulminate.’”

“’You bloody bastard!’”

“’Try this one,’ he said, holding up a green tube.’”

“’No!’ I shouted and tried to roll onto my side. When I looked up, Sherlock was pulling the two ends of the cracker. Nothing. Then I heard muffled giggling and realised it was me.”

“Sherlock mouthed, ‘A lot can be done with nitrous oxide these days. What? You said ‘happy.’ It’s a Yuletide happiness bomb.'”


	19. Father Christmas.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because there's a Rue Morgue around every corner.

“Most of the nightmares involve just Sherlock and I take place at the flat, but the one before that was different.”

* * *

“Sherlock had got his man and half of Scotland Yard was watching as he did his reveal.”

“’Really, not one of you so-called professional crime-solvers observed anything awry with our friend here,’ he taunted. ‘Not one of you said to yourself, this man, dressed up like a vintage Father Christmas, what is he hiding?’ He ripped off the man’s pointed hat. ‘A camera! And no one thought, what’s is this hideous costume meant to disguise?’ He grabbed the front of the red robe and yanked. ‘Why, what the well-dressed cat burglar’s is wearing these days. How curious! See, why you were running hither and thither, I was applying the principles of logic and reason as well as my vast knowledge of criminal networks, weather patterns, etcetera, to the problem, and naturally that led me to the culprit—John, will you please hold this?’ He produced a large ripe melon and thrust into my hands. ‘Now, what is our Father Christmas hiding in his sack? If you said nice gifts for good girls and boys, you’d be wrong, but—’ He untied the sack. ‘—if you said a very hungry orangutan—”

There were loud grunts. There was brown fur and teeth.

“BLOODY—!"


	20. Icicles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because one man's boring is another man's can't-lose.

Ella hid her mouth behind her hand. Her shoulders shook.

“Are you laughing?” asked John.

She dropped her hand and looked sheepish. “That one was a bit amusing, don’t you think?”

“No,” said John. “I was torn limb from limb by an angry ape! No, it wasn’t amusing. I am not a cartoon character! Or a doll!”

“Or, you know, the daughter of Madame L'Espanaye.”

John’s eyes widened. “Ella!”

Ella raised both hands. “I’m sorry. It’s a defence mechanism, John. Humour can be a way of coping with horrors. It was human, but not professional. This is a very serious situation, and you are suffering tremendously.”

John shrugged. “It’s all right.”

“But you must admit, your sub-conscious is quite clever.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. The one before that was a bit of déjà vu.”

* * *

“I woke and went downstairs as usual. No Sherlock. Cuppa, then. I took my mug to the window. The snow was thick, but the sun was bright. I heard the front door and footsteps.”

“’John?’”

“’Hello, Sherlock. Cuppa?’”

“’Later.’ He didn’t remove his coat or gloves. In one hand, he was holding a large icicle like a spear. ‘Would you help me win a wager with Anderson?’”

“’Sure. What is it?’”

“’That I can’t frame him for an icicle-dagger murder. Idiot. He’s _so_ going to lose this bet.’”


	21. Winter Soltice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because you should always check your bonfires for hidden Johns.

“The one before that, we were outside, in a snowy wood.”

* * *

A tall figure in a long, hooded robe approached me. It resembled nothing so much as Dickens’ Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come and carried a coil of thick rope in one gloved hand. It drew back its hood, and I gasped.

“’Sherlock! Where've you been?’ I cried.”

“’I apologise, John, for having been out of contact for so long. I did warn, however, that it would be a delicate and protracted business.’”

“’You said you’d be going undercover.’”

“’Yes! I am now a well-integrated member of the group, which is part criminal enterprise, part religious cult. Here,’ he thrust a robe matching his own at me, ‘put this on.’”

“’What? No!’”

“’It’s important, John. Their Winter Solstice rite is about to commence at a nearby spot, and I want you to be there.’”

“’As back-up?’”

“’Not exactly. Now, strip.’”

“’What? You’ve got to be kidding me!’”

“He shook his head and produced a sack. ‘Put your clothes and boots in here.’”

“’It’s cold, Sherlock!’”

“’Come on, John. It’s going to start very soon. Now, let me tie your wrists together.’”

“’Absolutely not.’ He grabbed me. ‘Sherlock, no!’”

* * *

“’Oh, look who’s here,’ called a voice. ‘Where’ve you been, Shezza?’”

“’Stop your bitching! I’ve got the human sacrifice for the bonfire.’”


	22. Under the tree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because lights out means lights out.

“The one before that was really quite simple: trimming a Christmas tree.”

“We had a nice, sturdy evergreen, and Sherlock and I debated where to put it. Finally, with a bit of compromise and rearranging of furniture, it was stood before one of the street-facing windows. Then there was a question of lights. Suddenly, we had many strands of white lights. Then there was a question of ornaments. The ones that appeared were traditional globes in silver and gold. Sherlock and I decorated the tree. He put the star on the top, then said, ‘I’ll turn off the lights, and you can do the honours.'”

* * *

“It sounds,” said Ella with a shrug, “a bit boring, John.”

“It is."

* * *

"Sherlock turned out the lights. I flipped a switch. There was a moment of ‘oh’ and ‘ah,’ then the tree went dark.”

“’Damn,’ I said. ‘I bet one of the lights went out, but which one?’ There were hundreds on the tree.”

“’You can’t apply your massive intellect to this tiny problem?’ I complained as I crawled about under the tree. I looked back and saw Sherlock wasn’t helping at all. He was stripping wires bare, then pouring water on the floor.

“’John,’ he said as I lunged, then fell as the electricity coursed through me, 'I think I found the dim bulb.'"


	23. Did you bring your gun?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because ruddy Shakespeare's got an answer for everything.

“The one before that was about how we obtained the Christmas tree in the first place. We were back in the snowy woods, but this time, wearing typical winter gear.”

* * *

“’I didn’t know that you would be keen on our cutting our own Christmas tree, Sherlock. In fact, I am rather surprised that you are interested in a tree at all. Or Christmas, for that matter.’”

“’Nonsense, John. Now, the bodies of the Addleton family were found in a shallow grave over there, and the ancient British barrow with its singular contents was about fifty paces to the east—’”

“Wait, is this all about a case, Sherlock?’”

“’A cold case that just happens to have taken place in a location with ample evergreens! Now, do you have your gun, John?’”

“’No, I have a saw and some rope because I thought that we were going to be getting a Christmas tree, and not, you know, fighting villains.’”

“’All right. Give me the saw and rope. You take this and walk over there.’”

“’Ugh. Sherlock, this honeycomb is very sticky. My gloves are going to be a mess. What, over here?’”

“’Yes, a bit farther. Okay. There’”

“’SHERLOCK! IT’S A—'"

“’Just a small one, John. You only have to worry if—"

“’AARGH!’”

“’Hmm, so it _is_ possible: Exit, pursued by a bear.’”


	24. Mittens or gloves. (Warning for scorpions).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because nothing says Christmas like Kafka. Warning for scorpions.

“And so the last nightmare, or rather the first nightmare after the one about the Paddington Bear snow globe, was about gloves. I often misplace gloves, usually one of them, sometimes the pair. In the nightmare, I was searching for a lost glove.”

* * *

“’Sherlock, do you know where my glove is?’”

“’Nope.’” He was stretched out along the sofa, his back to me, reading.

“’I’m late. Where could it be?’ I muttered. ‘Not in my pocket. Maybe I left it upstairs.’”

“I ran upstairs. No glove. But when I returned downstairs, there were gloves and mittens of all sizes and colours and patterns scattered all over the sitting room.”

“’Sherlock, what in the bloody hell—?’ Then I saw my black glove on the coffee table. It hadn’t been there before. I picked it up and slipped it on and—"

“’ARGH!’ I screamed at the sharp pain in my hand and yanked off the glove. A big brown scorpion dropped onto the coffee table. ‘SHERLOCK! If this is one of your fucking experiments—!”

“He turned towards me, and it wasn’t Sherlock at all, but rather a six-foot scorpion in a silk blue dressing gown.”

“So,” said John, “what do you think?”

“It is Christmas Eve, John,” said Ella, “and I think—”

Suddenly, there was the sound of squealing brakes and glass breaking.


	25. It's Christmas.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because it's Christmas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wishing all my gentle readers a very, very happy holiday! May your days be absolutely _nothing_ like John's and thanks to MissDavis for hosting this December challenge.

And there was Sherlock, ruffling his hair with two hands. Shards and splinters cascaded to the floor, joining the rest of the broken window.

Ella turned in her chair. John stood.

“SHERLOCK!”

Without a word, Sherlock closed the distance between them and, taking John’s head in his hands, kissed him soundly. Then he stepped back and looked over his shoulder.

“How was that?” he asked.

Ella grinned and clapped. “Splendid!” she exclaimed.

“Sherlock, what in the hell is going on here?” demanded John.

When Sherlock faced him, John noted the dark smudges under his eyes, the lines on his face, the sharpness of his features, and the way the purple shirt and coat hung on his gaunt frame. Concern overwhelmed surprise.

“Are you ill?”

“Just a bit knackered,” said Sherlock. “It’s been a tedious business, unraveling the colossal scheme of Baron Maupertuis. Fifteen-hour days, five days at a stretch, for weeks, but no matter, it’s done. The Netherland-Sumatra Company is no more. Europe will be ringing with my name, already the congratulations are pouring in, but that’s not why I am here.”

“Then why are you here?” asked John.

“Because it’s Christmas!” cried Ella. “And at Christmas, you should be with ones that you love. And loathe. And love to loathe.”

John peered around Sherlock and frowned at Ella. Sherlock turned, too.

“I prefer to text. The next time you want my attention, I’d suggest you use that method of communication rather than the rather inefficient medium of vicarious torture of my flatmate.”

“But where’s the fun in that?” said Ella, her voice dropping to a baritone and betraying a hint of an Irish brogue. “’Sherlock, please come home,’” she sing-songed, miming texting on a mobile.

“Okay, will someone please tell me what the fuck—?”

Sherlock spun around.

“Your herbal supplement, John, was drugged. Your tea, drugged. Your sleeping tablets, though drugs, also drugged. That noxious candle, drugged. The new blanket, the new pillow, the sleeping mask, all drugged. The white noise machine, rigged by remote control to whisper terrible bedtime stories into your subconscious, with back-up devices in the lamp and curtains in case you didn’t use it on a particular night.”

Ella shrugged. “Sorry, Johnny-boy.”

“Wait, you?” gasped John.

Sherlock reached for Ella’s neck and yanked. The head hung like a deflated balloon in his hand.

John blinked at the face without the mask.

“Moriarty?!”

“You should call me Jim, John. I mean, we’ve share so much.”

John’s face warmed. His nostrils flared. He snorted, then lunged.

Moriarty scrambled behind the armchair as Sherlock blocked John.

“You’re defending him!” snarled John. “He’s been torturing me for weeks!”

“I just wanted Sherly to come home!” called Moriarty. “To you! And me! London’s been so boring without him. I knew he’d come to the rescue. Nice entrance, by the way. Loved the little hair thing.” He waved his hands. “Sexy.”

“You’re done?” asked Sherlock, wrenching his eyes from John’s to cast a glance behind him.

“Until next time,” said Moriarty.

“What have you done with Ella?” asked John coldly.

“She’s on holiday.”

Sherlock and John both fixed him with hard stares.

“Who knew how much of a trigger that Paddington Bear was for her? Oh, wait, I did! Yeah, you never got her polite message saying yours ‘wasn’t a good fit’ anymore. Whoops. But I did so enjoy our time together, John. Quality stuff, that.”

John looked at Sherlock, studying his expression. “And you’re liking this elaborate, cruel scheme? I mean he couldn’t just wait for you to finish the case and return to London.”

“No more than I could enter by the front door instead of the window,” said Sherlock. “It is not the most conventional way of going about this, but it is one way to break the ice. To get us to act on the matter that we’ve been circling, avoiding, ignoring for so long.”

“See!” yipped Moriarty. “And I ship you two so much.”

“You do what?” asked John.

Moriarty raised one hand. “Sherlock.” Then he raised the other. “John.” Then he brought his hands together. “Kissy-kissy. That’s shipping. Re-la-tion-s _hipping_. Have either of you heard of the internet?”

John turned back to Sherlock, exhaling wearily and pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. “The drug. The other things.”

“I rid the flat of everything. A few well-hydrated days and your body should metabolise what little of the drug remains in your system. And without the subliminal messaging, the disturbance of your sleep should be minimal, but I am more than willing to,” he looked at John tenderly, “keep vigil.”

John smiled and looked down. “That might be nice,” he said. “But, Sherlock, one thing: I don’t want to celebrate Christmas. Nothing. No tree, no decorations, no gifts.”

“We’ll be veritable Scrooges,” vowed Sherlock.

John nodded.

“And no more meddling,” warned Sherlock, looking at Moriarty.

Moriarty raised his hands. “You’re home. That’s all I wanted Sherlock.” Then he broke into song.

“ _I don’t want a lot for Christmas. There’s just one thing I need_.”

“Okay.  I’d rather be, well, electrocuted by fairy lights or baked into fruitcake or poisoned with arsenic-laced gingerbread or burnt like a Yule log or drink snake eggnog while being ripped to shreds by a bear and offered as a human sacrifice than listen to that,” said John.

“Let’s go home, John.”

“Yeah, you look like you could use some rest, Sherlock.”

“So do you, John.”

“Maybe we could, uh, hibernate until next year.”

“Sounds like a plan. Shall we take the window?”

John laughed. “How ‘bout the door? And you are going to pay for that—”

“Yes, John.” Sherlock slung his arm around John’s shoulder and pressed his lips to the top of John’s head. “I missed you. Terribly. And you should’ve told me what was going on.”

“It was just nightmares. I didn’t want to bother you.”

“Bother me. From now on, bother me.”

“ _Make my wish come true, oh,_

_All I want for Christmas is you!_ ”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


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